


No one should die alone

by AndHellFollowedWithHim



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Blood, Gimmicks are real, Mysterio's lost, Supernatural Elements, Taker's hurt, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:21:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28009887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndHellFollowedWithHim/pseuds/AndHellFollowedWithHim
Summary: In 2005 Randy Orton drives a car into the SmackDown set with The Undertaker laying on the back. Rey Mysterio feels guilty, after all the man had originally come to help him fend off Kane and the Big Show.He goes to voice is gratitude, but doesn't really know what he's signing up for.NOT a ship fic!
Kudos: 4





	No one should die alone

**Author's Note:**

> Gimmicks are real, so Taker has all those supernatural things going on that he usually does.  
> As stated in the summary, this is NOT a ship fic, so you'll find none of that here. I just found the idea fascinating and no one else has seemed to grab this opportunity so here I go.  
> You'll find no mentions of Eddie Guerrero here. I'm aware he'd died a short while before this happened and that it was his car that was driven into the set, but I doubt I could've respectfully mentioned him in this fic. The mention would've been way too brief, and talking about a "fake death" while acknowledging a real one seemed kinda off to me.  
> Hope you enjoy it!

For as long as he had been in a wrestling ring, Rey Mysterio had always had to topple big challenges, aka big men. He had always had his work cut out for him, but somehow he’d always managed thanks to his quickness, agility and just general great athletic skill. Usually his stories had lots of ups with the downs, but right now Mysterio’s chances looked slim.

He had gained victories over lots of big men, but only a few were as big as the Big Show. Hell, even his name stated as much. Unfortunately in this particular SmackDown match Mysterio had been put against this giant monster. He was battered, bruised, hurting, but somehow he had almost overcome the beast. Almost, but Kane had other thoughts.

Together, Kane and the Big Show grabbed his throat and brought him down for a double chokeslam. His body was wrecked with pain and he just laid there. No strength to move, hurting too much to even attempt. He was certain these two machines would digest him and spit him out a broken man, but before that could happen, something else did.

Mysterio could not believe his ears when an extremely familiar gong went off and the lights turned off. The temperature dropped and the only noise in the darkness was the crowd going crazy. Surely this was a trick by Kane, he had similar abilities to his older brother. He turned on his right side to try to see what was happening, but only darkness greeted him. However, somehow he could feel a familiar presence appear not too far from him.

The lights came back on, and there stood The Undertaker. Mysterio couldn’t believe his eyes. Why was he here? His current issues laid with Randy Orton, not Kane OR the Big Show. He wanted to ask the bigger man the question as he just stood there, but he was hurting too much. He rolled away from the action, just to make sure he wouldn’t catch any more. He leaned on the ropes and watched.

To Mysterio’s adrenaline-filled vision, everything happened fast. Kane left, apparently well aware of what usually happened when The Undertaker set his sights on you. Big Show tried to resist, but got some haymakers and a flying clothesline for his trouble. Seeing the Phenom fly so high was always an unbelieveable sight, and a high-flying wrestler like Mysterio had a certain kind of heightened appreciation for it. Kane thought this as an opportunity, but he was chokeslammed the way he had been for many years. Big Show was kicked over the top rope and just as Mysterio thought it was over and that the Taker would turn his attention to him, Randy Orton appeared from out of nowhere and cut the big man down with an RKO.

After Orton slid out of the ring it was just the Phenom and Rey Mysterio laying in the ring. Mysterio stared at the other who laid still on his back. He always looked shockingly calm in this state and an unexperienced wrestler could think that he was down for good, but Mysterio knew better. Stillness from him was the last thing you wanted to see.

Surely enough the inevitable came, he sat up and went for Orton. At this point Mysterio started to have trouble seeing all the details with the ringropes on the way, the added distance and the pounding of his head, but what he DID register was Orton suddenly gaining the upper hand thanks to a crowbar of all things. He almost wanted to look away when he saw Orton hit the other several more times on the back of the head even though the man was clearly already down, but he didn’t. This was strange, he needed to see what would happen.

Things indeed got strange as Orton suddenly jumped into the driver’s seat, sat there for a moment contemplating, and started up the car. Mysterio didn’t want to believe what would happen, but in the time that took his brain to process what he was about to witness, Orton had the car on reverse and was speeding towards the SmackDown set – with The Undertaker laying on the back of it about to take most of the damage.

He turned his head away but still heard the disturbing bangs of the car hitting its target.

\--

As soon as he had recovered enough backstage, Mysterio set out to find the one who had saved him, for one reason or another. Most likely it had had nothing to do with him and the deadman just wanted to teach his little brother a lesson or something, but he still felt a weight on his chest that he knew wouldn’t go away before they could exchange some words. Besides, he had to see if he was even there anymore. As he’d walked back from the ring he’d seen the fire and the charred remains of set equipment. The Taker had gone through a lot over the years, but few had been as brutal as this one. He truly wondered if he was gone for good… and if he was to blame.

The arena felt bigger than he could’ve ever expected. He went from door to foor, from talent to talent, to see if someone knew about his whereabouts. Had this been ANYONE else Mysterio would’ve probably found them with only a few questions to a few people, but The Undertaker had always been a mystery to everyone.

He’d started with Vince McMahon, who was still shaking his head in disbelief. The medical staff was next, Mysterio had seen an abandoned medical bed next to the sight of the accident, left there due to the heat of the flames. They assured him that the Taker had not been found nor had come for any medical treatment, which worried a whole bunch of them. The boys, the talent, were next but they were little help. Some shrugged him off, others apologized. Had Kane not just chokeslammed him a while ago he would’ve been his best bet, but alas what happened happened and he wouldn’t be an option.

Mysterio was truly amazed that such few people knew anything about the deadman, but forgave them when he realized how little he knew himself. He’d just appear and disappear and if he did walk around, no one was brave enough to follow him. Most of the time after he’d gotten through the gorilla position, he’d practically vanish into thin air.

So there Mysterio was, still healing from his own bruises, walking around the arena trying to find the man no one usually wanted anything to do with. After searching the medical facilities and the usual places the boys hanged around in, he knew to head for the quieter places. The Undertaker had never seemed like a guy who liked huge crowds, except for the fans. He seemed like the kind of character to retreat into his own quiet safe haven and leave only when necessary.

He was starting to doubt that the one he searched would even be around still, until the air around him started to gradually become colder. The more he walked, the colder it got. Either the heating systems were having a day off, or he was approaching what he was looking for.

Surely enough, there was the door.

The lights around that particular door had popped, not turning on even though some others down the hall were burning brightly. The air was coldest here and the atmosphere was strange. In front of him was a locker room door with only The Undertaker’s symbol on it.

Mysterio started to doubt his life decisions up to that point. If he was truly here, would he REALLY want to see Mysterio of all people? The reason Orton had a chance to jump him? They didn’t even know each other well, they’d had one match together at that point. Would he be chokeslammed? Tombstoned? Sent to hell?

Mysterio shook his head and assured himself that he hadn’t gone that far for nothing. He’d had plenty of time to stress about it as he was asking around and he’d been toppling challenges all his life. Could speaking to one man be that bad? Besides, with the Phenom’s wide range of abilities, he probably already sensed him at the door. What kind of a picture would Mysterio paint of himself if he stood in front of a door, got a little bit nervous and immediately turned around? That couldn’t go.

Softly, but with some stiffness from the sore muscles, Mysterio knocked on the door.

No answer.

He waited probably an entire five minutes, imagining a horror image of him going to knock again but the door opening at the same time, resulting in him accidentally pounding The Undertaker’s chest, but nothing happened. It was dead quiet all around, the only noises very distant and from down the hall. Bravely he went for another knock, but was greeted with the same answer.

He almost went to turn around and leave, but couldn’t move. He suddenly had a desperate urge to check behind the door, blaame it on curiosity more than anything else. He cracked open the door not enough for him to see inside, but enough for his voice to go through.

”Taker? Are you there?”

No answer again. Mysterio felt stupid, absolutely moronic, until he heard the slightest sound inside. He couldn’t really tell what it was, but it sounded a little bit like a creak – like a creak of furniture. Very quiet, so quiet it would’ve definitely passed him had he not been holding his breath and had the environment not been so silent.

”Can I come in?” no answer yet again. Now even the furniture kept its mouth shut, which Mysterio partly cursed, partly thanked. Random noises emanating from the darkness was not his cup of tea, but it had also been a sign that someone indeed probably was inside of that room.

Not listening to any of his braincells telling him to shut the door and run for the hills, Mysterio opened the door more and slowly stepped in. From what he could see the locker room was like all of the others, except not. The lighting was very dim, most of the light coming from what seemed to be a candle, judging from the flickering. The atmosphere was much colder on this side of the door and his fight or flight instincts were going crazy. If he wanted to hurt him he wouldn’t have come to his aid, right?

Right after the door there was a narrower ”hallway” type of section that only went on for a couple of meters until it grew wider and became the main room. Standing in front of the door Mysterio could only see the flickering light of the candle, but not the candle itself. He saw very little of what was in the room itself, which made him nervous.

He yet again convinced himself that it was too late to turn back and slowly, with very careful and quiet steps, he made his way to the main room. His eyes were grateful for the light, however small it was, and after a bit of adjusting Mysterio finally registered what laid in front of him.

The room, as he thought earlier, was basic if not counting the atmosphere. On one side of the room there were some hooks to hang gear on, most of which were now filled with very familair-looking equiment. There were some lockers, a door to the showers and some benches, but one particular bench, one nearest to the candle, got his full attention.

The Undertaker was there, and even though Mysterio had prepared himself for the possibility that he probably wouldn’t be in the best of shapes, he was still shocked at his condition. The fact that he had taken the blunt of the accident’s damage showed. He was bloodied, his gear was full of rips with some parts cut open revealing the red flesh below, and his legs looked horrible. They were ever so slightly in such unnatural positions that Mysterio knew both were broken. A little bit too much forward, a little bit too much to the left.

”Oh, Dios mío”, Mysterio whispered.

The Taker was settled in a corner, sitting on a bench and leaning on a wall with one leg on the bench, one leg off. His hands were in his lap and his head was resting against the wall. His eyes were closed and his breaths were almost unnoticeable. For a second Mysterio had the horrible thought that maybe he was standing there with an actual dead man, but forced that thought out of his head when he saw the slightest movement of his chest rising and falling.

Not really knowing what to do, what was proper to do, Mysterio sat on a bench on the other side of the room. The sight was sickening, horrible, and the man needed medical attention, but for some reason he couldn’t make himself call for it.

If one of them wasn’t probably literally dying, the silence would’ve most likely been awkward. However, Mysterio couldn’t help but just stare at the unmoving man. Unmoving, until he seemed to just slightly open one of his eyes to look at the one who’d arrived. He wouldn’t have caught it if the light of the flame didn’t perfectly hit his eye, creating a small glimmer.

Mysterio’s blood ran cold, but he forced himself to talk. He felt himself sifting around uncomfortably, his hands not keeping still.

”I uh, I came to thank you”, he forced out. The deadman didn’t move at all, just kept looking at him with that one barely open eye, face expressionless but looking tired.

”I don’t care if it had nothing to do with me personally, but you saved my ass out there and I’m grateful”, he continued, hoping that he’d get some sort of response at the end of that sentence. No such luck. The only movement in the room came from the flickering of the candle.

Coming there with the idea to thank a man who doesn’t like talking, Mysterio had prepared for it to leave him feeling kind of unfulfilled. The difference there was that he still hadn’t expected it to be anything like this. He expected to be standing in the shadow of the large man, say a quick thanks and leave as quickly as he came with green eyes following his every movement. This situation however… he didn’t feel like he could just leave. He knew it’d probably be for the best, the Taker probably wasn’t exactly craving company at that particular moment, but he couldn’t bring himself to walk out of that door.

He shifted his gaze to his hands and started fidgeting with his fingers. The room was cold like it was suddenly the middle of winter in some much more northern country, but he could still feel himself getting warmer and warmer from stress. His ears were hyperfocusing on everything. The creaks that came from him moving around and changing positions sounded like gunshots and his own breathing like a hurricane. Everything was so quiet – and he knew that one green eye was still staring at him.

”Uhm, you look pretty rough, do you want me to call for help?” Mysterio asked after probably about thirty seconds of silence that felt like thirty minutes. He mostly asked to satisfy his won conscience, since he already had an idea of what the answer would be.

Silence.

Mysterio had kept his eyes down as he was asking the question, but he couldn’t help but have to check if the person he was talking to was still with him. He looked up and saw that, somewhat to his relief, The Undertaker’s eye had turned away from him and was now just blankly staring at the wall ahead. The continuing subtlte rise and fall of his chest indicated that he was still there, otherwise he would’ve been worried.

”You know I can’t just leave you here like this, deadman or not, or otherwise you’re gonna be a dead man for sure”, Mysterio insisted with some added confidence and moved to stand up, but was stopped in his tracks by a mixture of a growl and a grunt that sounded like a ”no”.

He sat back down and started to feel slightly frustrated. He wanted to leave but knew he couldn’t do it with a clear conscience. He should’ve called the medics there but didn’t know if the Taker was going to put him in a wheelchair. He didn’t really want to stay, but what other option did he have? He huffed, but did not earn his gaze.

”So you want to sit there marinading in your own blood? What’s that going to accomplish? I know you don’t like help but sometimes you just have to accept it”, he stated, irritation starting to show in his voice. He knew he was acting selfishly, there was a man in front of him that was in major physical pain, but he just didn’t want to be there anymore.

”At least let me get one medic?” he almost pleaded, and finally his gaze turned back to him. He stared right back for probably the longest time he’d looked The Undertaker in the eyes and even without really attempting to, started to read him.

The look in his eyes wasn’t asking him to do anything, it didn’t look pleading, it didn’t say ”please don’t”, it didn’t make him think ”oh god he’s gonna break my legs”, it didn’t really say anything. Now, eyes never were really the talkative sort, but the phenom had always relied on a lot of eye contact to get points across. With the lack of talking Mysterio had, even though the TV screen, seen a variety of expressions be visible through that green alone. Right now, he was telling him nothing. He just looked tired.

This alone made him stop pestering him about it. He clearly didn’t want the help Mysterio was offering to get him and for some reason now, even though he knew he probably couldn’t stop him even if he wanted to, with one still relatively expressionless look he had convinced Mysterio not to fetch it. It was ridiculous, absolutely bonkers, but that’s what the whole evening had been up to that point.

Again at the starting point, Mysterio sighed, leaned on a wall and crossed his arms: ”I already told you I’m not going to leave you to just sit here, so if you don’t want a medic you’ll be stuck with me.”

Unsurprisingly no protests sounded, instead the man in front of him just closed his eyes.

He didn’t know how much time passed after that, with him just sitting there and watching. Enough time for him to take in every detail, every possible injury on the other man and enough time for him to think about the one match they’d had together. Back then The Undertaker had been a much different man than he was now. He’d been more human, he’d shown more of his personal life and he’d done majorly different things. Back then, in 2003, the Taker had won their match but shown great respect towards him afterwards. Even before that, when the Big Show had snapped and thrown the man off the stage, Mysterio had felt such respect towards him that he’d been there with the medics helping out. He found the memory funny now. Even back then he hadn’t taken kindly to medics. They’d tried to put a neck brace on him and wheel him off in a bed, but he’d just fought his way out of it and walked out on his own terms.

It might’ve been thirty minutes, maybe an hour, the time flew fast with the memories to keep his mind occupied. They kept him so busy in fact, that he almost didn’t notice the starting change in the room.

His eyes widened as he realized that the candle was having a hard time staying alight. Having noticed this Mysterio lifted his head to look at the Taker, who hadn’t moved.

He wasn’t moving at all.

Adrenaline filled his every fiber as Mysterio bolted up from his bench and practically strode to the other man, breathing already heavy.

”Taker? Taker are you okay?” he asked hurriedly and even braved to grab his arm and shake it a little. To his utter panic there was no answer.

Had he just killed this man thanks to him just staring at him a certain way? No, that can’t be right. Right?

He shook him a little bit more, craving an answer. ”Taker, you’re spooking me man. Wake up”

None came. He felt idiotic. What kind of a moron wouldn’t fetch medics when there was a dying man in front of him? Undertaker or not.

He kept shaking him to the point that the shifting caused him to see more of the damage done, realize how horrid some of the injuries really were. When the other’s head slowly traveled across the wall, he saw the thick stripe of blood it left behind. Orton.

”TAKER”, he yelled in a final desperate burst and _really_ shook him, but nothing happened.

Mysterio was left drained, shocked and disgusted with himself. He backed against the wall and stood there, but couldn’t get his eyes off of the fallen. The amount of force in his shaking had brought the other completely down from leaning against the wall, and he was now laying on the bench. One leg still on the bench, one off. One of his arms, the one that was on the side of the wall, was still on his lap, but the other had fallen off and was now dangling limply off. Blood was everywhere.

He couldn’t believe it’d happened. Even worse was the fact that he was at fault. If he hadn’t come to his aid against Kane and the Big Show, this wouldn’t have happened. If he had just moved and fetched some medical attention, maybe there could’ve been something, something they could’ve done. But no.

He stood there for ten minutes, just staring. His breaths were heavy, his eyes were wide and his hands were shaking. Then, he braved to move.

He slowly walked to the other man and kneeled beside the bench. He laid his hand on the other’s arm, tattoos barely even visible anymore because of… everything, and bowed his head.

”I’m sorry”, he said quietly. He stayed there, thoughts racing, hand in place, so still and solemn that he almost jumped when he noticed something suddenly changing.

He couldn’t see his feet. The floor was covered in a mist so thick that nothing could be seen through it. He scrambled back upwards and looked back at the man before him almost hopeful, but nothing had changed there. However, his disappointment didn’t have time to last but a few seconds when the mist started moving like waves.

They were like waves in a storm and Mysterio was in the middle of it. Except, he didn’t feel anything. The mist wasn’t moving towards him, it was moving towards The Undertaker. It was wrapping around him like tentacles, slowly covering him in a mesmerizing sight. The movements were soft, kind and careful as the gruesome sight turned into nothingness.

A swirl of mist that lingered there for a moment left and revealed emptiness. He wasn’t there anymore. Nor was the blood, the marks on the wall, nothing.

It was like it’d never happened.

Mysterio was shaken up. He felt like he could hyperventilate any second. He could’ve guessed something weird was going to happen with a man like The Undertaker, but nothing could’ve really prepared him for it. For a second he felt like he was hallucinating.

The feeling left in the room was eery. The candle had been blown out and he stood there in the darkness, only managing to see faint outlines after his eyes had grown used to it. The room was still cold, but he could almost sense its temperature starting to get back up. The bench in front of him was empty.

He had to get out of there, he had to get out of there fast.

As if a lightning had struck next to him Mysterio bolted out of the room, throwing the door open and running through the hallways. He wanted to be as far away from that room as possible, he never wanted to see it again, he damn near wanted to just jump into a bed and go to sleep. What if he’d haunt him? What if he’d never let him sleep peacefully again?

When he started to come across people and started to feel curious eyes on himself, he started to slow down into a stiff walk. The last thing he wanted was for someone to ask if something was wrong, he didn’t know if he could take it with a straight face. He quickly glanced over his hands and his torso in case there was some blood on them, but thankfully the mist had seemed to have taken all the evidence with it.

Most of the talent at this point had already left, Mysterio having spent a considerable amount of time in that room. Way more than he’d anticipated. He hoped that the ones that were left wouldn’t talk to him, and thankfully they didn’t. He thought he was in the clear, until he came across Kane.

Kane was The Undertaker’s little brother, of course he’d know. And he always did.

As Mysterio walked forwards trying to keep from creating eye contact with anyone, he almost bumped into the man. He was standing in the middle of the hallway, clearly just to be in his way, and Mysterio’s first thought was that he was going to be beaten up even worse than he had been in the ring. Alas, that didn’t happen.

Kane just stared at him. He had an angry look on his face, with his lips pursed together and jaw clenched. He wouldn’t want to avenge his brother, right? Right?

He didn’t. He just stared at Mysterio, angry but knowing. Mysterio looked him in the eyes, put his head back down and walked around him. No hand came to stop him.

He felt like he’d committed a crime. He felt like someone would jump up from around a corner, stop him and say ”You killed The Undertaker!”. He felt frustrated and scared, but above all sad. He hadn’t been close with the man by any means, but he knew he hadn’t been a bad man. He didn’t want to say anything to anyone, he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

Mysterio walked into the parking lot, jumped into his rental car and pressed his head against the driving wheel.

Truly, he felt horrible.

–-

Following week’s SmackDown. Mysterio feels like he could be swallowed by the earth and he wouldn’t mind. Maybe he’d sprinkle some salt and pepper on himself. Randy Orton, one of the people he wants to see least, kicks off the entire night. By talking about what he did to The Undertaker.

Mysterio would’ve liked to jump through the TV screen and strangle Orton. He yelled about The Undertaker not coming back, about how he had killed him. He was clearly proud of it, boasting, his father nodding in the corner.

When they played replays of what had happened, Mysterio turned his head away. He didn’t need to see it, he knew everything he needed to know from the aftermath.

The banging haunted him.

He sat there backstage, in a hallway and near a TV. He watched things transpire in the show, but he forgot them the instant they had happened. His mind wasn’t in it.

For the past week he hadn’t gotten a good night’s sleep. A couple of times he’d seen nightmares about The Undertaker coming after him from beyond the grave, sometimes it was him watching the crash over and over again, but the worst ones were the ones where he was suddenly in the driver’s seat in Orton’s place. He was pale, had bags under his eyes and working out had been difficult. Fortunately he had the mask to hide most of it, but even if it didn’t show on the outside, he was a wreck.

Orton’s match was next, he couldn’t have been less interested. It seemed to be against Matt Hardy, which Orton won after some difficulties. He wasn’t all that surprised. That man was a literal killer, taking the legend killer name to new heights. Mysterio hated him. Maybe he could be swallowed by the earth with enough convinci-

Gong.

Mysterio visibly jumped in his seat and looked back at the television. Surely his mind was doing tricks again. He’d heard that noise often in his own head in the most peculiar places, making him believe that the deadman was coming after him. He had seen what had happened. He can’t actually be here. He’s not…

Gong.

The lights turned purple. Maybe this was Orton playing mindgames again? He had done that a few times before, Mysterio had seen that happen. That scared look in his eyes must be just acting and soon they’re gonna laugh and point fingers at the audience, how ridiculous that they’d fall for tha-

”Hello Randy.”

Mysterio felt like he could faint. That voice was unmistakable. How was that possible? He’d SEEN what had happened, this shouldn’t be possible.

”What, you don’t know who this is? This is the man that you tried to kill. This is The Undertaker!”

He was really there, he couldn’t believe it. He watched the rest of what transpired in total shock, barely even daring to breathe. The whole ordeal with Orton trying to escape by various means, but being stopped every time. The Undertaker would taunt him, make him feel small, and Mysterio couldn’t look away.

Of course he was back. It was The Undertaker. How many times had the died and come back at that point? He had been buried alive, set on fire, hell, he’d even been in a car accident before - the whole nine yards. None of the instances thus far had just been so… brutal.

Mysterio had to take a moment to just breathe. After it was over, after the Hell in a Cell announcement, he could see Orton sprint backstage and go talk to Teddy Long about it. He seemed just as shocked as Mysterio was, but even more than that, panicked.

He couldn’t refuse it even if he wanted to, Mysterio was starting to feel some panic as well. He was sure he was next in line. First the one who had actually done the worst of the deal, the second the one who hadn’t done anything to help. A true revenge story.

He started imagining himself being locked in a casket and being buried alive. That was the point he decided that he had to do something else than just sit and walk a little, everything had started to feel numb.

He stood up and walked.

Of course he was happy that the man was back, but now instead of having to think about leading a man to his death, he was having bad thoughts about his own safety. Was he going to be mauled? The Undertaker’s wrath had always been unpredictable. He could either beat you normally in a wrestling ring, after which you’d already be screwed up, or he’d challenge you to a special match that could leave you quite literally dead. Sometimes he even did the actual deed himself, fetched his symbol and tied you to it. Was that his fate?

Maybe he’d have some pity on him, after all he had only wanted good things. He seemed like he didn’t want medical help, so could he really be angry about not getting it? Maybe. He could do and think what he wanted.

Mysterio didn’t know how long these thoughts bothered him, and he also didn’t know how far he’d walked. What he certainly didn’t know was that the air had grown colder and the lights had dimmed.

He was hugging himself for warmth when he actually realized what he was doing. He was cold. Strange cold like this could mean only one thing in an arena. He could feel his heart pounding and his head starting to hurt as he started to look around to see where he was.

And there stood the man he had watched disappear in a mist.

The Undertaker was there, leaning against a wall in a particularly shadowy place. If you had just walked normally straight forward and not noticed any change, you could’ve even missed him. That’s how well he blended into the shadows. He seemed unharmed.

Mysterio’s fight or flight instincts were screaming for him to run, do anything else than just stand there staring, but he couldn’t bring himself to move. Some overbearing righteous sense in him told him that he needed to face what was coming. Another, maybe a more reasonable sense, was telling him that at least it’d be done and over with and he wouldn’t have to worry about it later. Except if he, you know, died.

The Undertaker just watched him for a while, clearly studying him. He had a particularly strong eye contact going on, nothing like the one barely open eye from a week ago. He was measuring him, probably trying to read his soul. He was known to do that, at least he talked about doing it. Mysterio didn’t feel like he had any power to object to those claims.

After what felt like an eternity but what probably wasn’t, The Undertaker stood straight up from beside the wall and walked up to him. Mysterio had never felt so small and miserable in his life, but he held his ground. He continued looking him in the eyes and tried to accept whatever was coming. He almost wanted to close his eyes so he’d live in blissful ignorance, but that would’ve probably made it even worse.

He was prepared for all the things under the sun. Tombstone, chokeslam, last ride, you name it. Maybe he’d made the ground open up and drag him straight to hell.

What he wasn’t prepared for was words.

”I do not hold it against you, Mysterio”, were the low, rumbling words that made their way into Rey Mysterio’s ears. He was so caught off guard that he broke the eye contact he had worked to keep up and flinched. Had he really heard that right?

Apparently, to Mysterio’s relief, the Taker wasn’t leaving it up for debate.

”Had you called the medical personel, they could have done nothing for me. It would’ve prolonged the inevitable and pulled more people in”, he continued.

Mysterio stared at him. He quickly thought back, back to the moment when he had tried to get the man to wake up, and remembered things shifting around. There were things shifting around, especially in the stomach and chest area, that shouldn’t have been shifting around. For a brief moment his mind was filled by gruesome pictures of massive open wounds and protruding bones, which he quickly had to stop. It all started to make sense.

”That’s why you didn’t want me to-”, Mysterio’s mouth was so dry that he had to get that sorted before restarting ”That’s why you didn’t want me to get them? To pull more people in?”

The Undertaker looked at him with a knowing look and answered: ”Why subject human eyes to such sights when it is not necessary?”

While this was starting to shape up to be an answer to the question that had bothered Mysterio for a week, he still needed to hear it straight or it would bother him for much longer: ”So you don’t blame me?”

”I don’t blame you.”

A gigantic wave of relief washed over Mysterio. He took a step back and placed a hand over his heart, sighing heavily. ”You scared me, you really did. I thought I watched you die and I just – I just didn’t do anything!”

The Undertaker remained expressionless, but seemed to understand where the other man was coming from. This was probably one of the longest conversations he’d had during that entire year.

”Many men have tried to kill me. You cannot kill that which is already dead.”

Creepy as that statement was, Mysterio didn’t pay mind to it. He was just happy that everything had fallen into place and no one was dying. Except maybe Orton, but he didn’t mind.

”I’m glad” he huffed between the relieved breaths.

With that The Undertaker turned around and started making his way down the hall. Mysterio was left there, and remained there until the lights mysteriously flickered back to their full power, the presence of the deadman having disappeared.

For the first time in a week Rey Mysterio smiled and let out a breathless, relieved laugh.

He’d be tuning in to watch that Hell in a Cell match for sure.


End file.
